The Thimble Ninja
by TigerQueen
Summary: Wally bets he can out-ninja Artemis.  We shall see...  Finally complete!
1. Chapter 1

Quick author's note: This is probably a terrible idea, since we don't yet know who Artemis really is, but…oh well. If you've found this story months after I posted it, it's probably far, far away from canon. My apologies! Also, I have no idea if Artemis has or uses an archer's thimble, or even if they're common. It's crucial for the plot, however, so: she has one now. Make that two or three.

* * *

It happened so fast that she _would _have missed it, if it had been anyone but Wally. And that was exactly her point.

They'd been arguing, which accurately described the entire time she'd known Wally West, and she'd been slightly distracted by the sight of Superboy bending over to—oh, who cared _why_—when Wally blurted, "I bet I ninja better than you."

"It's not a verb, and hell, no," she muttered, biting her lip as Superboy unfolded himself, all those glorious muscles sliding over each other like—

"Hell, _yes_," Wally said, blurring in front of her. "Check Urban Dictionary!"

Wally West, _ninja_. He was as subtle as a lightning bolt; who cared if he could be as fast. If she did this right, and if he were serious, she'd have a super-speedy porter service for two weeks. No—a month.

So she gave him her driest, least-amused look, schooling her cheeks flat even as he beamed at her. Then she sighed, slowly, blinked, slowly, and cocked her head to the left, forcing herself to count instead of speaking.

She'd only reached four when he continued, as cock-sure as ever. "I bet whatever you want that I can steal your thimbles, and that you won't even notice."

She raised her eyebrows. He waggled his.

"You're going to steal my archer's thimbles."

"I'm going to steal an archer's thimbles."

She made a great show of sucking in her lower lip and _thinking_. "That's tempting. Really tempting. There's no way you can win, so I can get whatever I want…but you're just so _annoying_…"

"I'm charming!"

"You could carry stuff for me," she said slowly, as though just considering it. "Without talking. That's it! You'll have to carry whatever I want, bring it whenever and wherever I want it, and without saying anything."

"If that's what you want to bet," he shrugged.

"Complete silence," she said, staring at him, bobbing her head in encouragement.

"I swear," he said loftily, "that if I lose, I will follow your every order for an entire year."

"_Dude!_" Robin shouted from a corner. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"How much time do I have?" Wally asked quickly.

"One week."

"Done."

"Wait—what am _I_ betting?"

"I get to keep the thimbles," he said simply. "Souvenir."

"Done," she said, even as Robin, babbling, inserted himself between her and her future indentured servant.

And then Wally West smirked, smiling the smile of the clever son of a bitch who's already won.

The look flitted across his face so quickly that she would have missed it, or at least would have questioned her own eyes, but she was looking _right at him_, and Wally never did anything by halves, so the look suffused his face so _completely_ in those few seconds that she knew what she'd seen. Ninja, indeed.

Then he disappeared.

She stood, still confused, for a crucial half-second before bolting for her locker. She rifled through her bag, reminding herself that it wouldn't count if she discovered the theft. But he hadn't said what he'd meant by that, had he? He'd just said that she wouldn't _notice_. How quickly did _Wally_ notice things?

But her thimbles were still there. One, two, three. She clutched them, shoulders sagging in relief.

"You sure care about those things," Wally remarked from just over her head.

She did not jump. If her heart did, just a little…well. He couldn't know that.

"I care about the bet," she grunted, bundling the thimbles and burying them deep in a pocket of her jeans. "I'm looking forward to a year without your stupid chatter." Her lips were a little numb, probably from the shock.

"You'd miss talking with me. What would you do with all that bitchy rage?" He was lounging on top of the lockers, arms folded behind his head. He sounded so damn happy. Smug bastard.

"Who said _I'd_ be quiet?" she shot back, grinning savagely. She willed him to look at her. He did not.

She silently counted to ten. Twelve. He just hummed. Twenty.

"_Anyway_," she continued, now properly pissed off, "just to clarify: I have the whole week to _notice_ if you've stolen a thimble."

"That wasn't how I understood it," he pouted, still staring off into space. "So, I guess the deal's off?"

"No, no," she ground out. Just like him to back out now. "A day, then."

"Deal!" He hummed again, dangling a foot over the edge of the lockers, twitching in time to some tune she didn't recognize.

"Deal," she repeated, trying to sound confident. She glanced at the clock. _Shit._

"So. I'm going back."

"Fine," he sang. "Fine, fine, you're always fine."

"I'm not…I know I 'm not going to lose," she clarified. "But I have to get back to my dorm."

"Go, already," he said dreamily. "Fly away home."

"I'll be back tomorrow morning."

"Really?" he said, suddenly sitting up. "You'd ditch school for this?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

"Oh." He stared at her, finally, with a strange, soppy look on his face. She frowned at him. He smiled back.

"Wally West, you are a strange kid."

"Artemis, you are a bitch," he replied, still smiling. "And a half."

"I'm going home." She grabbed her bag and made for the door.

"Good night."

"I'll be back tomorrow."

"Good night."

She paused in the doorway, trying to dig her nails into the door-frame. It looked like a normal door-frame. But it wasn't. It was made of metal or something. She frowned at it, too.

"Good night, Artemis," he teased.

"Don't sleep too late," she said, trying to make it a cool set-down, but it sounded lame in her own ears. He was probably a morning person, for all she knew. But he didn't reply.

She released the door-frame and left as regally as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

She arrived at dawn to prove she wasn't hiding from him.

No one was up. Not even the Martian.

She'd never been to Mount Justice without the rest of the team buzzing around. She tried to enjoy the silence, but her skin itched, and she jumped with every whirr and beep that the massive, ever-present computer system emitted. She felt a million electronic eyes watching her. Assessing her. Waiting for some sign of betrayal.

Might as well wait outside.

She liked the view of the harbor from the back of the mountain. She balanced on the railing and practiced her kata in the cool morning air. The regular movements always calmed her, and the gentle ocean breezes were particularly soothing. A sudden gust of wind startled her, stealing her breath and tickling her ears. It felt good. She laughed at the unexpected thrill and loosened her hair, hoping for a repeat performance.

None came.

* * *

She didn't see Wally until lunch. He was squabbling with Robin, gesturing madly, when he saw her. His expression blurred for a second before settling on a cocky grin.

"Nervous?" he teased, leaning against the kitchen counter…and putting his elbow in a bowl of guacamole. She laughed while Miss Domesticity simultaneously fussed over him and telekinetically scooped out the tainted dip. Wally glared at her, then murmured something in the Martian's ear. A gasp later, the bowl overturned on Wally's head, coating his red hair with green goo.

She laughed harder, wondering how he'd _finally_ provoked a reaction from Miss Oblivious.

He darted in front of her. She meant to say something, really, but then a chunk of avocado dripped off his left ear and she totally lost it.

He flicked a bit of guac on her nose. She snorted it. That brought tears to her eyes, but it didn't stop her laughter. She doubled over, eyes squeezed tight.

"You," she wheezed, "are…the w-…_orst_…flirt!" Then, for good measure: "Fail!"

"Dunno about that. But I know I'm the best ninja."

She choked and straightened, hands searching her pockets. One, two, three. All present and accounted for. She breathed slowly and deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. He smiled at her—that strange, new, dopey smile—and cocked his head, shaking loose another dollop of guacamole. Her cheek twitched.

"Right. I keep forgetting how _sneaky_ you are," she drawled.

"Yup. See?" He pointed to his head. "Camo. Stealth-mode."

She smothered another laugh. No sense in encouraging him. "I'll keep that in mind, if I go swamp-diving." She patted her pockets. "You are _not_ winning this bet, West."

His smile faltered, and she thought he might speak, but then he was gone in a burst of wind and guacamole that left her shirt artfully splattered and her wind-chapped lips burning.

* * *

Not long after that, Batman came up with a weekend project that was "integral to Justice League operations." She asked if that meant they'd be cleaning toilets, which earned her a dirty look…she thought. The cowl made it hard to tell.

They spent the rest of Saturday and Sunday transporting physical evidence from one outpost to another by hand. She wasn't sure why they had to travel separately, and along different routes, but she also wasn't sure why Robin had to wear shades with his civvies. Either Batman was paranoid, or he still questioned her motives. Oh, _yay_.

She found she didn't mind spending all weekend on a motorcycle, though. Wally was given enough work to keep him occupied (i.e., _most_ of the work), so she could let her guard down a little. The weather was nice, and she liked the way the wind played with her hair. She enjoyed the illusion of freedom.

* * *

Monday. Another new school. And a thunderstorm.

So much for freedom and the wind in her hair.

Her new classes _were_ more engaging, but it still bugged her that someone had given her a scholarship completely out of the blue. She nibbled her chapped lips. The school was in Gotham, and Gotham meant Batman, and Batman meant more distrust and/or paranoia. Somehow. She wasn't sure how he'd conned Bruce Wayne to pay for her education. Her grades were okay, but didn't suggest much, ah, _diligence_. But Wayne seemed like a friendly, trusting, slightly-vapid guy, so it probably hadn't been too hard.

_Hey, Bruce, old buddy! Don't you want to give this kid a hand? She's had a tough life—her mom's a cripple—but she's half-Asian, so she's got to be smart, right? So she'll do really well, which will make her sponsor look really good. Win-win!_

She tried to imagine Batman saying this, and giggled _very_ inappropriately in European History.

She wondered what Wally's classes were like. Then she frowned at herself for thinking of Wally. There wasn't any reason to think of Wally during a class on the Black Death. Then again, inappropriate laughter was a Wally-like thing. _Rats, hahaha! Boils, teehee!_ Or something like that. He was such an airhead.

She doodled a giant rat, then a little Wally running away from it. It was so stupid that he was going to school half a mile from Mount Justice, while she'd have to drive half an hour each way for the whole week if she wanted to make the bet fair. It would make more sense to have _him_ visit _her_ most school days…but then her roommate would play matchmaker, and that was_ not _happening. But driving her motorcycle in the rain at night would be…_a training opportunity_, she reminded herself.

She drew a rain cloud over Wally's head, then lots of little lightning bolts.

* * *

She was soaking wet when she arrived. Superboy stared at her. She stared at his biceps. They were very nice.

"It's raining," he finally said.

She normally liked the fact that he was a little stupid. It meant she could drool over his muscles without fearing negative consequences. He was too slow-witted to make fun of anyone, and there wasn't much chance he'd become emotionally attached to her. When he found out who she really was, he'd be (more) confused, but he wouldn't feel betrayed. He'd get over it, unlike Wally, who'd never forgive her. She reminded herself of all this whenever he acted _really_ dumb.

"Yes," she replied. "It's raining." She pointed at the window. "It's raining _a lot_."

"I know that," he scowled. "So why did you come here?"

"Oh! I thought there might be a mission?" She mentally slapped herself. "Or training. Since we were on bikes all weekend, I thought it would be good to train."

"Oh." Superboy scratched his head. "Well, we're having dinner in a few minutes. M'gann's making lasagna."

"Oh." She squeezed water out of her hair, trying to think of something else to say. _Sorry, I assumed you were being stupid. Can I make it up to you? What's your stance on nudity?_

"Hey, big guy, dinner's almost…" Wally swallowed, staring at her.

"What?" she snapped. "Look, I'm not ducking out on our bet. I'm sorry that I forgot you can't go five minutes without stuffing your face."

He blinked, shook himself, and disappeared. The gust of wind left her teeth chattering.

And then, suddenly: towels. At least three of them bundled around her like a burka. Wally paused and tucked one under her chin slowly. Carefully. He bit his lip. "You hungry?" he whispered.

Her stomach lurched. "I think so," she heard herself say.

* * *

The lasagna was pretty good. It was probably three parts baked cheese to one part everything else, but baked cheese being tasty, she wasn't complaining.

Wally heaped on the praise. She hated his smarmy side. She contemplated a direct frontal assault, but she felt too full to move.

Superboy put an end to it all by smiling and declaring that he liked it. Flustered, Miss Martian raced back to the kitchen, a train of dirty dishes floating at her back.

She smiled, resting her chin on her hand. She liked the girl, despite her overwhelming perfection. She considered offering to help clean up. She imagined them standing in the kitchen, talking about their teammates until the dishwater turned cold. _Like that could ever happen_. The Martian's telepathy was dangerous. It would be so easy to share too much.

"What's wrong?" Wally asked quietly.

"What? Nothing!" She automatically checked for her thimbles again, then wondered when she'd lost her mind.

"You just…" He weighed his words. "It looked like you remembered something that made you unhappy."

She searched for an appropriate answer. "I realized tonight won't be very fair to our bet," she said, a little too flatly.

"Why not?"

"Because you ate a full tray of lasagna."

"You think that'll slow me down?" _Dang_, but he was perky. His smile went soft. "Maybe you're right. How about we play Halo until I feel less like the Fat Ninja?"

She agreed…apparently. It was all a little bewildering, the way his emotions bounced around. All she knew was that she was sitting at the table one moment, and on the couch the next. She wasn't great with video games, so Robin refused to play with her, but somehow she could have a satisfying argument with Wally even while her avatar got killed. Repeatedly. In embarrassing ways.

* * *

"You should be going home," he murmured as they finally reached another level.

She blinked. It was late. _Really_ late. "Weekend restriction," she moaned thoughtlessly.

"What?"

"I'm living in a dorm with a ten o'clock curfew."

"So?"

"So I'll get demerits. Enough for weekend restriction."

Wally juggled their controllers. "No, you won't."

"Yes, I _will_."

"You'll be back in time."

"How?" she asked, even though the answer was obvious.

"I'll take you."

"What about my bike?"

"I'll take you to school in the morning."

"I can walk."

"Then I _won't_ take you to school in the morning. Happy?"

"But…"

"I'll pick you up after school and bring you back here so you can get your bike."

She bit her lip. She really needed to get some lip balm.

"Look," he said, "it'll give me a chance to steal thimbles."

"You're a terrible ninja. You shouldn't tell me what you're planning to do."

"I'm an _awesome_ ninja, so it won't even matter."

He lifted her and her bag—no time for protests—and off they went. She held him tight as they moved so fast the wind stole her breath.


	3. Chapter 3

She ran in the dark, the wind cool on her naked skin. Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with a ravenous need she didn't understand. She wanted to laugh, but the wind filled and emptied her mouth, over and over, as she ran, sightless, on nothing, on the wind itself. Closer, closer, closer…

* * *

She woke.

As frequently happened, thanks to her nomadic childhood, she didn't remember where she was. Holding very still, and forcing herself to breathe normally, she focused.

She was in a bed. The bed was long, narrow, and uncomfortable, but there were bright posters on the walls. _Chudley Cannons_, she read from the corner of her eye.

Catherine. She was in the dorm room she shared with Catherine. Catherine, the noisy southern girl who loved all things Harry Potter, especially the ginger kid. Catherine, who went by nothing but "Catherine." Not Cat, or Cate, or Katie. _Catherine_.

Catherine, who was sleeping in the bed underneath hers.

She shivered. It was a cool morning. It didn't help that she'd kicked off her sheets, or that her pajamas had twisted up, leaving her calves and stomach bare.

She'd been cold in her dreams, somehow. She frowned, trying to remember. Eh…not worth it. But the dream hovered at the edges of her mind all morning.

* * *

Wally had agreed to pick her up where he'd dropped her off. The service parking lot behind the library was suitably quiet and isolated. At least, it _had _been, until Catherine had followed her there.

Catherine was on the social committee. Fine. They were having a dance in a few weeks. Great. They'd chosen a Harry Potter theme. Super.

They needed someone to help make decorations.

Hah.

Hahahahahahah.

Apparently, Catherine hadn't heard about the Great Glitter Incident. There was a reason why her paraplegic mother didn't ask for help around the house.

But just as she started to explain to her roommate why she Did Not Craft, an awfully strong breeze blew in.

Hah, hah, hah. Oh, _shit_.

"Hi," said Wally.

"Hey," she replied, watching Catherine nervously.

"I'm Catherine," said Catherine. And she was. She was very _much_ Catherine, speaking with that breathy voice, staring up at Wally's red hair.

"Yeah. Sorry, Catherine," she said quickly, "but…

"I am _enchanted_," Wally said, grasping both of Catherine's hands.

"…but we've gotta run," she growled, snatching Wally's hands and dragging him away.

"Okay," Catherine chirped. "But you are _so_ telling me about this later, honey!"

"Fine!"

"She seems nice," he whispered.

"Shut up."

"Jealous?"

"No!"

"Then…"

"Just _shut up_, okay? And we're leaving as soon as we get around the corner."

…

"I still think you're jealous."

"Are you _capable_ of—_oof!_"

It was at that moment—because she had really terrible timing—that she remembered her dream.

* * *

She was trying _not _to think of the dream. Then they stopped, and she realized that she hadn't been paying attention to anything else.

"This isn't Mount Justice," she said.

"Nope."

"_Crane Beach_," she read.

"Yep."

She stared at him. He swallowed, then said lightly, "So can I put you down?"

"Aren't we going to Mount Justice?"

"No reason to. Robin's off with Batman, Kaldur's still visiting Atlantis, M'gann's experimenting with tofu…" He grimaced, but barely paused in his rapid-fire speech. "And Superboy's brooding in a corner—what else is new. I thought it could be fun to go somewhere else. You know, for the bet. And I like it here."

"But…it's an 'important nesting site,'" she read, "'for piping plovers,' whatever those are."

"Little beach birds," he explained.

"Okay, for 'little beach birds.' I'm pretty sure that means 'no speed-butts allowed.'"

"Speed-butt?"

"And no archers, either."

"Speed-butt?"

"Yes: _speed-butt_. You're a very speedy pain in the butt. Like a speedboat, but louder and more annoying."

An old couple walked by, eyeing them curiously. She was suddenly very aware of the tight shoulders under her arms, the warm hands at her waist and thigh. She flushed and wriggled out of his grasp.

"So we're staying!" He grinned as she sputtered, then dashed—visibly, like a normal person—to the admission booth and back.

"Wally. Wally. Wally _West_, we can't stay here!"

"Too late. I already paid!"

"Why?" she groaned.

"Because." His mouth fluttered, as though he were happy and sad in equal measures. "Maybe I want something different."

He tried to take her hand. She ignored her crazy, stupid impulse to let him, and escaped in the only direction that made sense: toward the beach.

* * *

It was cold, but pretty. Pretty _beautiful_, to tell the truth, but who said she had to be honest? She yawned loudly to cover the fact that she was slowing down. _Oh_, how _boring_ all this white sand could be.

They strolled over little rolling hills and wooden walkways. She enjoyed this for a few minutes, before she realized that Wally West was being quiet.

She took a long look at the skinny kid by her side.

His eyes darted over the landscape. His mouth twitched. His legs trembled a little with the effort of walking slowly. But he was making the effort.

"Do—" Shit. She hadn't meant to say anything.

He looked at her, eyes wide, brows raised. She felt heat radiating off her face. Scowling, she continued: "Do you really like this place?"

"Yeah."

The swimming beach was nearly empty. A lone woman at the other end threw something into the ocean, and a gray dog chased after it.

"I've been coming here a long time," he said, gesturing. His hands fluttered like lost birds. And she thought she understood.

Once, he had been able to visit this place _without_ twitching. She tried to imagine a smaller Wally, sitting perfectly still for hours, studying birds for some science project.

She realized she was picturing Robin with red hair. She snorted.

"What's so funny?"

She couldn't explain it. She shook her head and took a few steps out on the hard-packed sand.

He followed, just a step behind.

She walked a little faster.

So did he.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw a blur aiming for her pocket. She dropped, sweeping out her leg to trip him.

"Now, now," he panted a moment after his butt hit the sand, "we can't really _fight_ here."

"You think I'll just let you take the thimbles out of my pocket?"

"No…" He stood and leaned into her, leaving only half a foot of air between them. "That wouldn't be much fun." He grinned, and she barely blocked another hand darting toward her leg.

_Fun?_ She waited until he tried again, then shifted away, putting him off balance. His arms pin-wheeled before he hit the sand again. Yes, it could be fun.

They…it couldn't be called _fighting_, so…they _played_ this way for some time. It was strange, being chased without being threatened. His hands were so quick that she'd have lost several times over if he didn't telegraph his movements so damn much. Instead, she toyed with him, letting him get closer and closer before making him trip over his own feet. Little sea breezes caressed her face and tickled the back of her neck as she danced around him.

Finally, he caught her wrist as he tumbled, and down they went in a heap. He rolled on top of her.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, short of breath.

"I have no idea. Totally, no idea."

"No shit. You're a terrible ninja." She chuckled, trying not to blush, trying to focus on her position without focusing on _their_ position.

"Terribly _awesome_ ninja," he murmured with slightly-crossed eyes.

Then she flipped him and dashed for the water. "What are _you_ doing?" he asked, still lying on the sand, as she toed off her shoes and rolled up her jeans.

"Upping the stakes!" she shouted as she ran into the surf. She laughed at the jolt of ice cold water on her toes. "What—you scared of getting a little wet?"

They played there, laughing, feet freezing, Wally soaked from head to toe, until the sun dropped behind the hills.

* * *

"You gonna tell me anything about Mr. Enchanted?" Catherine asked.

"Nope." She stuck her toothbrush back in her mouth.

"You gonna tell me why there's sand on your jeans?"

She brushed. Swished. Spat. "Nope."

"Good to know they're connected, at least."

She frowned, wiping a trickle of toothpaste off her chin.

"Well, then," Catherine drawled, "you might wanna get that mouth in shape."

She rubbed her chapped lips together before she realized what Catherine meant. "That's not…no! No!"

"Right, honey. Of course not." Catherine handed her a new tube of lip balm. "But the Girl Scouts taught me to be prepared for _any_ possible scenario."

"That _isn't possible._"

"Uh-huh. In return for kissable lips, you can help me make a papier-mâché owl for the dance!"

She was sorely tempted, just to see what would happen.

* * *

"Just a sec."

"We actually have a job, this time," Wally fretted.

"Okay, okay. Tell me about it," she said as she fished for the lip balm.

Silence.

He was watching her, staring with wide, possibly-frightened eyes. "It's just lip balm," she told him, waving it in front of his face.

He nodded stupidly.

"My…the skin's all cracked," she explained, feeling a little awkward as she gestured to her mouth. "Probably from running around so much…" She glanced at his own parched mouth, and nearly fumbled the tube. "But you know all about that," she finished, and stared at the blank library wall as she applied the balm to her lips. Stupid, stupid dreams. Stupid, stupid teenage hormones. This was _Wally_. Plain, stupid, scrawny Wally. Who actually wasn't that plain, and certainly wasn't stupid, and was covered in thin cords of muscle. As she'd seen, up close, when he'd soaked his shirt the night before.

Stupid, stupid _brain_ needed to Shut Up.

"So," he said, and his voice cracked on the single word.

"Right. Let's go." All business. Got a job to do. All business, she put her arms around his neck. All business, he cradled her and leapt away.

* * *

The job was easy enough. _But_, she realized as she pulled another string of slime from her hair, she would have preferred cleaning toilets.

She dallied under the water. The showers at Mount Justice were _nice_. Oh, how she'd missed heated tiles.

She heard distorted voices through the wall. The guys should have been done showering…but Batman had kept Wally behind, she remembered. He hadn't screwed up, exactly, but he hadn't been normal, either. He'd gotten himself mildly injured by holding his ground when he should have dodged. _She'd_ dodged, and she was beginning to feel irrationally guilty about that.

She wondered what Batman had said. She turned off the water and pressed her ear to the pipe.

Robin was talking, but his voice was mostly too low to carry. Damn his good training.

Wally, though…

"I'm not going to apologize for protecting a teammate!"

"…_know_…"

"What if she hadn't seen it?"

"…_without powers_…_has to_..."

"Well, maybe I don't want to risk that!"

"…_totally_…"

"It isn't stupid."

"…_brilliant_…"

"Hah. Hahahahahah. See—I fooled you, too."

Huh? Were they still talking about fighting Croc?

"I've already won the _stupid_ bet, dumbass."

"_What?_" A shock ran down her spine.

"Won it the first day."

"…_death_ _grip_…"

"You see? You don't even know what the bet was about."

"…_Artemis_…?"

"…No."

"…_trick_…"

"No!"

"…_isn't_…?"

"Well…okay, yeah, it was a trick at first…"

The water pipes clanked with a new surge of hot water. She waited for the noise to stop. Her mind buzzed.

He'd tricked her, somehow. She balanced on the balls of her feet, trying to wait for new information when she desperately wanted to run back to her locker and check the thimbles.

The clanking stopped. She pressed her ear to the pipe. Wally, again:

"No, really—you don't know her. Up close, you see all these things she tries to hide. And she's good at it, but you catch these little emotions on her face for a second, just milliseconds, really, and…She's _beautiful_."

Well. She rolled back on her heels. They were obviously talking about the Martian.

Suddenly aware of her goosebumps, she grabbed a towel and assaulted her hair.

* * *

In the hallway, on the way to collect her motorcycle, she nearly ran into Robin.

"Clumsy," he said, grinning.

"Short," she shot back.

"I'll get taller."

"You can hope." She was a few steps past him when the thought occurred…

"You should tell your pal to keep his voice down. I couldn't help hearing everything he said back there."

Robin paled behind the sunglasses. Jackpot.

"Care to explain?"

"How much did you hear?" he said blandly, composure recovered.

"Everything."

He peered at her thoughtfully. "I don't think so."

"I heard _enough_."

"Uh-huh. Like what?"

Better start off with the inoffensive, just to get his guard down. "Well, I heard him gushing over M'gann…"

He sighed. "Of course." He leaned back and nodded hard enough to bounce the back of his head against the wall. He repeated the movement again and again. Thump, thump, thump.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Trying to erase this." Thump. "And what he said, too." Thump. "But it isn't working." Thump.

She stared. She couldn't think of anything to say. She'd always expected the over-analytical boy to snap, but not _this_ soon.

He stopped, scrutinizing her again. "What are your intentions? Are you attracted? Detracted? Distracted? Just tracted?"

"Huh?"

"What do you think of Wally?"

"He's annoying," she replied automatically.

"Exactly," he sighed, resuming the head thumping. "That's what I _told_ him."

"What is this about?"

"Don't you have a curfew?"

Damn. "Yes, but—"

"Better go, then." She turned toward the door, caught herself, turned back…and he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Thursday morning, she woke up angry. Her alarm interrupted a dream in which Wally made out with M'gann while archer's thimbles fell from the sky. "I've already _won_, I've already _won_," a chorus of invisible Wallys chanted.

"Oh, _Wally_," M'gann moaned.

"Oh, _Wally!_" Superboy shrieked.

_That_ was how she convinced herself that it had been a dream.

"Ugh." She rubbed her eyes.

"Thinking about today's history test?" Catherine asked from the lower bunk.

"_SHIT._"

* * *

Given that she had almost certainly failed her test, which was _all his fault_, it seemed horribly unfair that Wally didn't have to pick her up.

Given that she hadn't looked at her gas meter in days _because of him_, it was totally unfair that she ran out of gas halfway to Mount Justice.

And given that it took an extra twenty minutes to walk her heavy motorcycle to the nearest gas station, for which he was somehow, cosmically, _entirely to blame_, it really pissed her off to find him playing video games with Robin when she finally got to Mount Justice.

Just as she was about to descend on him and deliver an _entirely justified_…_something_…she felt a firm grip on her shoulder.

"Spar with me," Kaldur said in his Big Brother Knows Best voice.

"Huh? Artemis!" Wally shouted from across the room. "We were wondering where you were. Are you okay? What—"

"Dude," Robin whined without taking his eyes off the game, "she's obviously fine, and we _just _got to level 12. Priorities!"

"But—"

"_Do_ you have my back? No, you _don't_. My guy's dying over here, and you're—"

"But—"

He looked way too innocent for someone who had clearly ruined her day.

"Yeah," she told Kaldur. "Sparring sounds good."

* * *

Kaldur was strong, but…well…_fish out of water_ was sometimes apt. On days like this, though, she just needed a punching bag, and he seemed to understand that.

He blocked her punches and kicks in silence for a few minutes, letting her vent the worst of her frustration.

Finally, when she paused for a little water, he spoke.

"Are you ready to talk about it?"

She swallowed. She wanted to sass back, _about what?_ But she liked Kaldur. He was calm, quiet, and had nice shoulders (though the gills were a little weird). Most importantly, he wasn't judgmental. And it might be nice to talk to someone.

She watched him take a deep drink from his water bottle. Poor guy. He'd probably been thirsty for a while.

"It's just Wally," she sighed.

He choked.

She hadn't known _that_ was possible.

"Umm…." She tried to decide whether or not it patting him on the back would help. He waived her off, sputtering a little, but apparently recovering. He frowned in concentration.

"We have this bet," she continued. "I'm not sure if you know about it. You see, last week—last Friday—he said that—"

"You wanted to see me?" the Martian asked as she floated through the training room doors.

"Yes." Kaldur coughed and cleared his throat. "M'gann, could you please spar with Artemis for a while?"

"Oh. Well…"

"Kaldur…weren't we having a _private_ conversation?"

"I am sorry, Artemis." He looked a little sick. She wondered how bad it was for him to inhale water into the wrong lung. Lungs. Damned if she knew how his body worked. "I do not think I can help you with your current problem," he continued. "Wouldn't a…_female_ perspective be better?"

"No. Not particularly." _Duh_.

"And I really need to…see about the…the…" He backed toward the door. "To see if Batman has any…_thing_—anything—that we should…be doing."

"Did you seriously just call her in _telepathically_?"

"He sort of...yelled," Miss Helpful noted. "People do it all the time, but yeah, I can hear it."

"You'll both excuse me," he apologized before turning and running. Well, speed-walking. Coward. She couldn't believe he'd left her with the _telepath_. Of all the times to be worried about keeping someone out of her head…

"You wanted to talk about something?"

"No." She glowered. "You can at least block arrows, right?"

"Yes…"

"Then get ready." She loaded her quiver with practice arrows.

"Wouldn't talking be better?"

She answered with an arrow that flew straight toward its target's head until, five feet from impact, it was easily waived away. The next seven arrows took similar paths. With arrow nine, the target finally bothered to move, but only to float lazily around the room. This was _much_ less satisfying than punching Kaldur. It must be nice to be _sweet_, and _good_, and _perfect_, and _psychic_. _Stupid Martian_.

Then, quietly: "You can call me Megan, if M'gann is too hard."

"I _can_ pronounce M'gann," she said thoughtlessly before realizing…"You were reading my mind!"

"No…"

"I _knew_ it! You…you _sneaky_—" Her arrows flew, fast and strong, with unremitting accuracy.

"I can't help it if you _yell_ it! It's just like what Kaldur did, except it's like you want me to know how much you dislike me!" Tears suddenly appeared on the Martian's…

As soon as she thought it, the Martian flinched. Bad timing. An arrow grazed a trembling cheek, leaving a shallow cut as fine as paper.

"Why do you hate me?" the…other girl whispered, clutching her cheek. "Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, with Superboy and all that, but I thought that was just, you know, friendly rivalry or something. I don't get why you hate me so much."

She took a deep breath. Obviously, the other girl hadn't really been reading her mind…or else was a _really_ good liar.

"I don't hate you."

"Then why? Why do you call me all sorts of mean things, like 'the Martian,' or 'Miss Helpful,' or 'Miss Perfect?' And it's never friendly—you always think it so _meanly_."

"I just…don't want you peering into my head."

"But I already promised I wouldn't!"

"I know, I know." She sat on the floor, resting her head in her hands. "I just find that hard to believe. Why wouldn't you?"

"Because it makes you unhappy. Isn't that a good enough reason?"

"Too good," she grumbled. "But you see, people react to their names, right? At least, _humans_ do."

"So do my people," the other girl acknowledged.

"So if I think, 'blah blah blah _M'gann_,' isn't that basically an invitation to snoop?"

"Is _that_ why you do it?"

She lifted her head. There was an uncertain smile on the other girl's—screw it: _M'gann's_—face. At the thought of her name, M'gann beamed.

"That _is_ it, isn't it? You _want_ to call me M'gann, but you're afraid I'll read your mind, so you force yourself to call me those awful things! And that's why you think them so _loudly_—you're correcting yourself, keeping yourself from thinking of my name!"

"Umm." She looked at the ceiling. "Yeah. That's it. Exactly."

"You don't hate me at all! Oh, how _wonderful_! But you don't need to worry about me. I know there are things you don't want any of us to know. I won't pry into them."

She bit her lip. The lip balm tasted strange. "Yeah, but…doesn't it worry you?"

"What?"

"The fact that I have secrets." The floor was hard and cold. She pushed herself up and paced, slowly twirling her bow.

"Not particularly. We _all_ have some secrets. Isn't that normal?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I don't think they're like mine."

"Well, I wouldn't know…but think about it. Robin keeps his identity a secret. And there's something else, too. He's really angry about something," M'gann said slowly. "He tries to keep it buried, but it surfaces every now and then. And Kaldur's sad about something, but that's new since we became a team."

"Superboy doesn't have any secrets."

"No," M'gann agreed with a smile. "But he hasn't been alive long enough."

"What about you?"

M'gann drifted to the ground. "Yeah," she finally replied. "A big one. I…don't really look like this."

_Oh, really?_ "Umm, hate to tell you this, but that isn't really a secret."

"It isn't?"

"I think we've all seen your uncle in his, uh, default mode. At least in pictures," she added, shrugging. "I think we all know you must look more like him, and less like a tall, green human girl."

"All of you?"

"Yeah."

"Even Superboy?" M'gann whispered.

_Oh_. "I've never asked him," she hedged. "But…well…he isn't human, either…"

"He looks like one," M'gann said miserably.

"Technically, yeah…" She frowned. "But _you_ like him."

"Yes."

"And he doesn't look like a Martian. So maybe that goes both ways." As much as she liked his arms and his abs (and his _ass_), there was something right about Superboy and M'gann. Kind of safe and boring, but cute, like a pair of pandas.

"Do you really think so?" M'gann brightened.

"Seems possible," she ventured. "I mean, why not?" She sucked at this. Her training hadn't included many pep talks.

But it seemed to be working. M'gann thanked her sincerely, adding, "I hope that your secret, like mine, isn't as bad as you think it is."

"Somehow I doubt that," she said faintly. M'gann looked curious. Time to change the subject. "What about Wally? Does _he_ have any secrets?"

"You probably know more about that than I do."

"Why?"

"Well, now that you're courting—"

"Now that we're _WHAT?_"

"Oh. _Hello_, Megan! You'd say 'dating,' not 'courting.'"

"What the Hell is wrong with you people? First Catherine, now you—and is this why Kaldur was acting so weird?"

"Sorry?"

"We're not _dating_," she spat.

"But…he took you home on Monday, and then you both disappeared on Tuesday, and then—"

"We _are not dating_. _I_ am _NOT dating Wally Freaking West_. Nope. Nope. Am not. Have not. Will not. _Period_."

M'gann frowned at her. "But you've both been acting really strange, lately."

"That's—oh, jeez. You have it all wrong. _Totally_ wrong. There's this bet—we have a bet. He bet me—didn't Robin tell you this?—he bet me that he could steal these—" She pulled off her thimble and tossed it to M'gann, continuing, "without my noticing it. And he's bombing, _majorly_, but I heard him tell Robin that he's already won, which really pisses me off, because he bet that he'd do whatever I told him for a year, and he is _so _wrong if he thinks he's getting out of that. Oh, and did I mention that I failed a history test today? Didn't just fail—probably came close to zeroing out, because I didn't even remember that we _had_ a test, let alone what was _on_ it. And…"

She paused for breath. Panted a bit. "And…"

M'gann smiled, crossing the room to hand her the thimble, clasping a green hand over her closing fist. "Relax, Artemis. I think you'll be fine."

"It isn't fair," she sulked. She had never been allowed to sulk, before. It felt almost as good as punching someone.

"Boys rarely are," M'gann said with a faraway look.

"No offense," she muttered, "but how would you know?"

"I've read all about it in a great book about the battle of the sexes," M'gann replied. "It's called _Peter Pan_."

_That_ deserved a weird look. "I'm pretty sure that's a kid's book."

"Have you read it?"

"No…"

"Then you must," M'gann decided. "It's in my room—come on! You'll love it. It's full of pirates, and fairies, and thimbles, and—"

"Thimbles?" Her head suddenly felt fuzzy.

"Oh, yes! There's this wonderful bit about the problem people have with translating thoughts into words and vice-versa. You see, she offers to give him a 'kiss,' but he doesn't know what that means, and that communication break-down makes her lose her nerve, so she gives him a thimble, instead. But later, when she wants a real kiss, she asks for a 'thimble,' and…Artemis? Are you okay?"

"Did you tell anyone else about this?" she croaked.

"What?"

"Did you tell Wally about this? About the thimble thing?"

"…Now that I think about it…yes! He saw me reading sometime last week, and I was laughing at the thimble scene, so he asked me about it. Why?"

The thimble dropped from her nerveless fingers. She stared at it, stooped to pick it up, and nearly stumbled.

"Artemis? What's wrong?"

"I…" Her gut froze. Her heart stammered. She had to get out of there. _Immediately_. "I forgot. I have to go. I…have extra homework."

"But you've been here less than an hour! How about some dinner?"

"I have to get out of here."

"I think dinner would help." M'gann gently grasped her shoulders. "Really, I don't think you should be driving right now."

"What's wrong?" Wally called, zipping through the door.

_Wally_.

"Whoa…Artemis? Are you feeling okay?" His big, green eyes, full of worry, peered down at her. _Too close_.

She bolted.

Artemis Crock, who never ran…okay, so she'd run away from _one_ thing in her life, but you make exceptions for psychopaths…Artemis Crock ran from a skinny fifteen-year-old boy. Ran like he'd been carved from Satan and spat hydrofluoric acid. Ran like he was a fox, and she was a rabbit, and running was her only option.

* * *

She had biked halfway home before her adrenaline levels dropped and she became capable of rational thought.

_Okay_. Time to think _logically_.

Fact: At some point during the previous week, M'gann had told Wally that, in one children's book, "thimble" meant "kiss."

Fact: On Friday evening, Wally had made a bet that he could "steal her thimbles."

Fact: On Wednesday evening, Wally had told Robin that he had won the bet back on Friday.

Fact: Wally had, to date, categorically failed to steal her _archer's_ thimbles.

Possible conclusion: The bet had nothing to do with _Peter Pan_. M'gann had talked to Wally _after_ the bet was made, or the story had merely put the word "thimbles" in his crazy brain, or he had forgotten about it entirely. Wally was simply being a stupid, cocky braggart when he talked with Robin. He was losing the bet; all would be well. His bizarre behavior—the soppy smiles, the impromptu beach trip, and the definite uptick in the niceness/jerkiness ratio—was entirely coincidental.

The autumn wind was getting chilly. She frowned, remembering the warm breezes she'd felt many times in the past few days. _Warm breezes_ and _chapped lips_ had to be added to the pile of coincidences.

Or…the alternative conclusion: …

_Focus_.

The alternative conclusion: When Wally said "thimbles," he meant "kisses." He'd been stealing kisses since Friday.

The reference was so obscure, it was almost worthy of a ninja.

_"A terribly awesome ninja_._"_

He'd tricked her.

_"It was a trick at first…"_

But why had he kept at it? It would have been a good joke back on Friday. Why string it out?

_"Maybe I want something different_._"_

He'd told Robin that someone was beautiful. She'd assumed he meant M'gann, but Robin had known—instantly—that she didn't really know what they'd been talking about. Could he have meant _her_? That suddenly seemed likely, even obvious, but she couldn't tell if it merely _felt_ obvious because that was what she wanted.

That was the scary part. She wanted it to be true.

* * *

She returned late on Friday, just in time for dinner.

If she and Wally were unusually quiet, nobody mentioned it.

Robin wanted to play another video game, but Wally claimed he had to read something for school. Robin reminded him that it was Friday. Wally argued that it was a long book.

Well. It was _War and Peace_. But it didn't help that he kept re-reading the same page all night.

She knew this because she was watching him more than she was watching the video game Robin had uncharacteristically offered to play with her. She was faintly aware that her character was dying even faster than normal, but for some reason, Robin didn't complain. After a while, she realized that he was capable of winning the game on his own, so she settled back to watch him while spying on Wally.

The evening dragged on.

"Well," she finally said. "It's getting late."

"Yeah," said Wally. "About time for you to get back to school?"

"I think so."

"I'll just…uhh…well, I'm going that way, too. To the door, that is."

"Okay."

"So. Okay if I join you?"

"Sure," she replied.

"Cool. Uhm. After you."

"Oh. Thanks."

As they walked down the hallway in an awkward silence, she realized that she hadn't said goodnight to their teammates. But then, they hadn't said anything to _her_, so maybe they hadn't noticed.

Wally opened the door for her, then followed her out to her bike. Their feet crunched on the dry leaves. She hadn't bothered to park her bike in the garage.

The stars were bright in the clear night sky.

"Looks like I lost the bet," Wally muttered.

"Looks like it," she repeated.

"So," he said, extending his hand: "your humble servant. Oh! And silent." He covered his mouth with his other hand.

"Wait," she said.

He waited, his hands dropping back to his sides.

"It hasn't really been fair, recently. So, if you want…" She hesitated. "If you want, you can try one more time. But just once," she added quickly.

His mouth turned up in a wry smile. "Just once. Okay."

She held her breath.

She saw the blur going for her pocket, and she moved to catch him.

Not his hand, but his face.

He froze there, with her palms cupping his chin, and his lips pressed to hers. Then she dropped him, surprised by her own success, and he rocked back on his heels.

_I can admit that you've won_.

She had practiced that line all morning.

_I can admit that you've won_.

It should have felt natural, but the words kept getting caught in her throat.

_I can admit that you've won._

She took a deep breath, and said, "You can admit that I've won."

He blinked. "What?"

"I've won," she said. "I've won," she repeated with more confidence. "Obviously."

"No," he said slowly, "I think it's pretty obvious that _I've_ won."

"No," she insisted. "You bet that you could steal thimbles without my noticing it."

"Yes," he said, nodding, "and it's clear that you've figured out what I meant by 'thimbles,' and that I have been incredibly, _repeatedly_ successful."

"But I _did_ notice it."

"Not within the one-day window!"

"I caught you! With my hands!" She waived them at his face. "Right here!"

"That was _once_."

"And you bet that I would _never_ catch you!"

"_When_ did I say _never?_"

"When did _I_ say that 'thimbles' meant _'kisses?_'"

"It isn't my fault that you didn't understand the bet!"

"Well, likewise!"

"You're trying to create a loophole on the _last freaking day!_ I had _won_ this damn bet ten minutes ago, fair and square—"

"But you were willing to admit to losing, so I don't see what your problem is _now_!"

"My _problem_," he roared, "is _you!_"

"You're damn right it is!" she yelled back. "As of this moment, for the next _year_, you have to do whatever the hell I want!"

"Hah! Wanna _bet_?"

And then she kissed him.

She probably had the element of surprise for a few milliseconds, but she didn't get time to enjoy it. He quickly took over the kiss, dragging her body against his, moving his lips knowingly over hers.

_Knowingly_. That reminded her that he'd done this—oh, a few dozen times, at least.

_Jerk_.

She pulled back and tackled him, easily pinning him to the ground.

"Spitfire bitch," he murmured.

"Idiot," she whispered. "Like you'd ever beat me at anything."

"I can kick your ass at Halo."

"Ooh. That counts as half a point, maybe." She kissed him hungrily, learning all the teasing curves of his mouth.

_She didn't deserve this_.

She let him flip her, just for the hell of it.

_He'd learn the truth, someday. And he wouldn't like it_.

She curled underneath him and kissed the hollow of his throat, curious. She liked his reaction. She liked his hair rumpled and she liked the old leaf clinging to his shirt. She liked that he stared at her as though she were beautiful, even though she knew better.

_It was practically a crime._

The world's _best_ ninja caught the wind in her hands and wrestled him to the ground.

THE END

* * *

Author's End Note:

I'm curious whether anyone caught the hidden meaning of "thimble" before Artemis did. Perhaps Wally and I are just nutters.

I hope you enjoyed this, you three or four people who read clear to the end. I think this marks my farewell to fanfiction. I'm graduating from law school dangerously soon (seriously), so it's high time I put away the thimbles and fairies and silly puppy-love romances. Or at least high time I stopped writing about them, given that I have the plot of an actual _novel_ bubbling in my brain. Hum, hum.

It has been a delight to write for you and to read your lovely stories. I will continue popping by from time to time, particularly to read other stories, but also to see if anyone's left a review (hint, hint). Because my hopefully-to-be-written novel is intended for teenagers and young adults, I'd like to know what you like and don't like about my writing style. For example, I intentionally splatter the page with sentence fragments because I think that's the way many people think and talk, but maybe you find this distracting and annoying. If so, please tell me.

Your humble servant,

TQ


End file.
